The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III by Freda Warrington Read Free Book Online Page B

lying in a dark pool, staring at the sky. He heard the snorting breath of horses. He could smell blood and earth. Sounds rattled in his skull: the clash of weapons, roars of triumph, then – silence.
    Through black stars swirling in his skull, Raphael crawled away. He shook and sobbed as he went. No one came after him. Through lightless wilderness, over sharp stones and thorns and snow he went on, never daring to stop, onwards into oblivion.
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    Eleanor sat tending Lady Hart, who lay blanched against the pillows. Katherine watched, taking in everything her mother did. First the administration of bitter herbs, sweetened with honey, spoon by spoon into Edith’s trembling mouth. The mingled scents of herbal sap and flowery nectar, of rushlights and the stale breath of illness, were so familiar to Katherine that she barely noticed them. Then Eleanor lit bunches of sage and bloodroot and cleansed the room with their smoke, pacifying the sour-humoured foggy elementals that always gathered to feed on illness.
    At last, Edith was able to speak.
    “A Lancastrian knight came and claimed my demesne, since my lord is dead and attainted. That I could have borne, but the Green Hollow…”
    Katherine saw her mother’s face set solid with rage.
    “What knight?”
    “It doesn’t matter. If not him, it would have been another. But my sacred spring… The priests were there already with their crosses and holy water…” She paused, struggling to go on.
    “You tried to stop them?” Eleanor asked.
    “Yes, I fought like Queen Marguerite.” Edith coughed out a dry laugh.
    “Oh, Edith!”
    “You would have done the same! A great armoured man brought his pike down upon my head. They slew my sons in front of me, my two dear knaves…” she stopped again, shuddering. Her grief was agonising to witness.
    Katherine cried out. “Raphael?”
    “Yes, Raphael is dead, Simon is dead.”
    “Oh, God,” breathed Eleanor. “Oh dear Auset, Mother of God.”
    They were silent for a time. Katherine’s grief squeezed her throat and pushed tears from her eyes. Raphael, whom she’d befriended less than a month ago: a slender dark boy, full of anger and life. How could he be dead?
    Eventually Edith went on. “I got up somehow, and ran for my life. I hid in the woods, out of my mind. But I wish they had killed me too. I could think of nothing to do but come to you.”
    “All this way, on foot, in the snow?”
    “If the cold finished me, I would not have cared.”
    “We shall appeal to the king,” said Eleanor. “He must grant you back your manor!”
    “What can a mad, beleaguered king do to bring back my sons?” Edith cried. “No, no, Eleanor, I can’t fight this. Without my sons, property means nothing.”
    “Another of the old ways stolen and sealed against us,” Eleanor said grimly.
    “But if I hadn’t tried to protect the Green Hollow, my sons would not have died. Even my sacred spring wasn’t worth that. We can’t stand against the Church, Eleanor.”
    “You weren’t to know.” Eleanor said into her friend’s hair, rocking her. Timidly, Katherine held one of Edith’s limp hands. “You acted bravely. We mustn’t give up. Surrender to barbarians who think nothing of raping children or destroying our ancient ways? Surrender, just because they have the upper hand for a season? Never. This must not happen here!”
    She turned a harsh glare on her daughter, and Katherine was afraid. Her mother was placing a compulsion on her: to protect their own lands unto death.
    “But it will,” Edith said aridly. “We’re too few to hold back the tide. We have no bishops, no armies. The world grows blind and deaf to us. I beg you, let me stay here, dear friend, and if they come to desecrate your sweet demesne also – may Auset judge them.”
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    Lying in a ditch, Raphael relived his escape. He seemed to crawl forever, while his mother and brother lay dying in lakes of blood.
    And more. Inexplicable memories of sitting outside a